


Milk To Spill

by sophalie



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Drugs, M/M, Oneshot, Past Character Death, Rehabilitation, Top Frank Iero, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28383549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophalie/pseuds/sophalie
Summary: Don't cry over spilled milk, they say. It's spilled already, they say. But they don't mention whether you should cry over milk that's just about to spill.Gerard has a glass like that. And he tries his best to keep it full.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	Milk To Spill

**Author's Note:**

> Just a wierd piece of fiction about Gerard and Frank meeting each other during rehab. It was written nearly seven years ago and today I translated it just because I can. Thus, you have probably figured that English isn't my first language. Proceed with caution :)
> 
> But if you do decide to proceed, thank you.

"M-mstr Way?"

At first all Gegard can hear is inaudible muttering, mumbling and chomping. A few seconds later as he distracts himself from the drawing and frowns slightly with effort to concentrate on the annoying sound, Gerard can discern something that he assumes could be defined as one of the human languages. 

"M-mstr Way? Is-itgong-alrght?"

Still visibly confused and somewhat angry, Gerard stares at the unfinished sketch again. He feels as if he is being woken up at some ungodly morning hour.

"Is-itgong-alrght?"

Finally as all of his thoughts are back to their natural, usual flow, gained shape and at least some meaning, turned from scrappy puzzle pieces to something more descriptive, Gerard is ready to react to the environment. And only then does he realise that he is, in fact, being addressed at this very moment.

"Mister Way? Is it going alright?"

For heaven's sake, is that what it's about? Gerard throws a borderline pissed off look at the nurse over his shoulder and focuses on the drawing again, not gracing her with any kind of verbal answer. 

He still feels uneasy, uncomfortable, torn forcefully out of his thoughts as if pulled out of a warm bed in the morning. Which is probably why he stays silent, despite his usual sharp tongue and sarcastic demeanor. 

He doesn't see the woman, but bets she shrugs and moves past him through the room, about to annoy another patient.

They call it 'art-therapy' and it's the only thing Gerard genuinely likes in this god-forsaken place. Although, during the first few days he was determined to depict his supervising physician naked on a crucifix, but got bored rather quickly. 

Mostly because his supervising physician threatened him with a prison sentence for at least fifth time that week.

Gerard liked doing what he wanted. Not doing what he didn't want came naturally. Therefore, Gerard was so hammered on vodka and high on cocaine that he didn't even flinch when he smeared some poor idiot all over the hood of his favorite Pontiac Firebird, not hitting the brakes on time. He didn't leave the car either while the crowd of passers-by thickened, some of them ringing the ambulance, others dialing the police. 

Gerard was dead certain (yes, come on, take as much blood as you fucking please, damned pigs) that he wasn't going to be taken to the station, thank you very much. And even if he was, why did it matter? He had a fuckload of money. He was an artist. A creator. Nothing was impossible for him.

This certainty of Gegard's held up right until the moment he heard his Miranda warning. Actually, to be completely honest, maybe it was still alive for several additional minutes after that. It melted away tracelessly though as one of the cops, casually pressing the handset of the phone into the receiver, told Gegard that the man he had ran over earlier just died. 

The lawyer Gerard had hired (despite the fuckload of money) didn't manage much, just an ultimatum. It was either prison or rehab. 

The coal crumbles, squeezed between his fingertips, and Gerard hisses a curse under his breath as he hurries to erase a fat, ugly scratch it made on the creamy canvas. The drawing looks like everything at once and nothing in particular. It’s not like Gerard is fond of abstract art, but rather is scared of the progression with which every portrait he attempts as of late inevitably ends up being that of Frank’s face.

It must be the sedatives fucking his mind, because Gerard cannot remember how exactly he and Frank met. Every hall and corridor of the clinic look like the exact twins of one another. Maybe they accidently brushed their shoulders moving past each other. Or maybe they were in line waiting for some appointment. Gerard has no idea. It’s the sedatives, for sure.

Frank was at least a couple of inches shorter than Gegard; had dark, asymmetrically cut hair and plump lips - bottom one pierced with a silly little ring. His large hazel eyes underneath long girly eyelashes stood out way too much, were way too beautiful. They were, Gerard decided back then, the only truly attractive thing about the guy. A short-sleeved polo revealed a whole assortment of bright, colorful tattoos. His neck was also inked here and there. And his fingers. Gerard, frantically afraid of needles his whole life, almost felt physically ill just looking at this. 

“Crack,” Frank said then, reaching his hand out for a handshake. “I mean, I smoked crack. Name’s Frank. What about you, Ariel?”

_Ariel._ Gerard remembers becoming infuriated so fast that he almost saw red (which had absolutely nothing to do with his hair). Even the fact that he and Frank were killing themselves on the same shit didn’t seem to help, despite everyone else staying together in small groups.

Cocaine. Heroine. Ephedrine. Stupid grass. We’re all brothers and sisters.

Gerard had dyed his hair a couple of weeks ago, some time before he murdered a human. When he was a child, he and his brother adored this obnoxiously red bubble gum from a small store near the schoolyard. Gerard remembered the chemical smell, the sickeningly-bright color, and the memories gave him comfort. Gerard liked his hair.

Frank stood there with his palm still in the air till the very moment a nurse called for him from a nearby doorway.

“Mister Iero?” she raised her voice. “Frank Iero? Please come along, we’re going to need a blood test.”

_“Iero?”_ Gerard quirked an eyebrow, a smirk twirling on his lips. “I’ve never heard a-”

“...dumber last name, I know,” Frank just laughed carelessly. “Catch you later, Ariel.”

To this very day Gerard has no idea what exactly it was that prompted Frank to approach: the red hair or his listless look. To think of it, it doesn’t matter. Gerard is even grateful for Frank’s pesky determination; after all, had Frank not pushed himself onto Gegard, Gerard would never have realised how much he actually craved Frank’s company. 

Gerard turns towards the window to rest his eyes and can’t help a fleeting, soft smile as he spots Frank on the nearby soccer field. He is absolutely sure that it is in fact Frank - these idiotic tatoos are simply unmistakable. Or maybe, Frank himself is now unmistakable for Gerard. 

Frank handles the ball with remarkable speed and finesse. Gerard would probably trip and fall about a thousand times by now. 

It’s entirely quiet in the room, save for the pencil scribbling and occasional rustling of paper. Some of the patients are probably annoyed by that and would prefer a tune over the silence, but the nurses stopped turning the radio on ever since Gerard had knocked it over with his boot on one of the bad days.

He always hated stupid radio music anyway.

The night after meeting Frank was sleepless. Gerard, of course, managed to get his separate single room with a large bed (what else did he have that fuckload of money for?), but felt uncomfortable nonetheless. Locking the door was forbidden, same as keeping any sharp objects, glassware and mirrors, so any thoughts of effective way to commit suicide were doomed to be fruitless.

Gerard tensed as he heard something rustle behind the door. Once, twice, three times. He eventually decided that it was worth getting out of bed for, just in case. 

He grabbed the floor lamp just out of lack of any other ideas, and that exact decision had probably saved Frank from a head injury. 

“Yo, Ariel, I- for fuck’s sake!”

The LED lamps couldn’t really crack, and the thick linen dome even softened the blow, yet the floor lamp broke anyway. Gerard stiffened, unmoving, breathing heavily while wearing nothing but his stupid striped pajama pants. He squinted with effort in the now pitch-black darkness, trying to discern anything familiar about the intruder.

It was Frank, alright. 

“You fucking scared me to death!” Frank exclaimed, rubbing the side of his head that suffered the impact. And then he laughed. “Well, at least now I know better than to mess with you.”

“ _I_ scared _you?_ Really?” Gerard blurted out indignantly, finally tossing the useless floor lamp leg aside. Which one of them scared the other was a burning question, he thought. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Wanna show you something,” not at all fazed, Frank replied and gave Gerard a cheeky once-over. “Looking hot, by the way. Walk with me?”

“Show me something? Walk with you?” Gerard muttered under his breath, not having any of it. He stepped forward to intimidate, as if he was going to shove Frank out of the room. Frank didn’t look at all impressed, so Gerard ended up just waving him away. “I don’t want to hear it. This is stupid. Get the fuck out and we pretend you were never here.”

Frank had the audacity to grin even wider than before. He moved several inches closer, but stopped at the exact moment when Gerard was ready to push him away. His eyes glistened in the darkness, looking for Gerard’s. “A handy way to manage problems. Pretend they don’t exist.”

Gerard sucked in a lungful of air in a futile attempt to calm his nerves, but suddenly felt aroused instead. Frank smelled like a blend of freshly ironed clothes, clean hair and a hint of cologne Gerard didn’t recognize. Too nice to ignore. 

“Glad we both agree on something,” getting a hold of himself, said Gerard. “You are a problem, Iero. And I’ve already asked you to leave. Now, I don’t have a spare floor lamp, so hell knows what I might grab and hit you with the next time.”

“Give me a break, Ariel. Half the junkies in here would die for an unauthorized walk,” Frank made a step back for what Gerard felt almost grateful. “I bet you would, too.”

Gerard still didn’t have the slightest idea how _or why_ this crazy motherfucker even got into his room past the clinic staff. 

“Not with you,” Gerard scoffed and shuddered, suddenly feeling goosebumps running down his spine. “All I know about you is your name.”

“Ah, thanks for reminding me,” Frank was still unfazed. “Not that I mind Ariel, but… what’s _your_ name?”

A gentle, loving smile creeps onto Gerard’s face yet again (he is positively sure he would have puked had he seen his own face right now). The drawing is still unfinished, the silence is still filled with the scribbling, rustling and soft click-clacking of the supervising nurse’s heels. Honey-yellow rays of summer sunshine spill all over the floor, Frank is seen through the window, running across the soccer field, knocking his ball around. 

What Gerard feels now can almost be described as happiness.

Which wasn’t the case entirely back when Frank led him down the dark stairway. Gerard didn’t have any clue as to why he had agreed to a nightly stroll with this (undoubtedly) crazy individual, but followed obediently, gingerly counting the steps. He had to put on a sweatshirt earlier, not noticing in the thick, nearly absolute darkness that it was (not unlike the rest of his clothes) stained with paint. 

“Now is when we need a pass.” 

Frank seized movement way too abruptly and Gerard, overcoming his last step, was _this_ close to colliding into him. He had to stretch out his palm and hold onto Frank’s back to prevent the both of them from falling.

Frank was… warm. A simple touch, albeit through the fabric of his t-shirt, felt pleasant. But of course, for sure, absolutely, Gerard _did not_ think about any at all touches with no t-shirts. 

“And who did you blow to get it?” shaking his head to toss the annoying bangs out of the way, inquired Gerard. He kept his hand on Frank’s shoulder. 

“Where are your manners?” Frank exclaimed, clearly making a mocking impression of being offended, and dropped his voice to a mere whisper: “On second thought, fuck the manners. You better be asking who blew me.”

From a back pocket of his skinny jeans he pulled a small plastic card which looked just like your regular ID pass. In the dim corridor lights Gerard had a glimpse of the photograph with one of the young nurses’ face on it. They always looked the same to him. He didn’t manage to discern the name, though.

“You’re nuts,” Gerard bit out. Surprised, yet unspiteful.

“Anything for you,” Frank replied and somehow, even though the tone was sardonic, to Gerard it did not sound like a joke.

They crossed the hallway quietly, although Gerard was smothering stupid giggles as he fought the urge to burst out laughing the whole time. A sleeping man wearing a guard’s uniform didn’t show any sign of waking up even after Frank had pressed the card onto the reader and the turnstile let out a brief screeching beep. The indicator flashed green and before Gerard knew it he was already squeezed firmly by the shoulders and pushed ahead. All he had time for was to feel Frank’s warm breath somewhere behind his ear.

A long, long time ago Gerard used to do the same with his little brother to save money on the second metro ticket. 

“Works once every twenty minutes,” Frank explained casually. “You smell nice.”

When the automatic doors dutifully slid apart, Gerard almost felt dizzy. Obviously, scheduled walks were an optional part of every patient’s day, but to Gerard dragging around under supervision in a company of demented junkies (that he of course was not a part of) seemed like a highly questionable pastime. So now he enjoyed slowly breathing in the foggy midnight air, holding on to Frank’s shoulder again for some reason.

“Why are you doing all this?” Gerard suddenly asked, not looking at Frank. The stars above seemed way more fascinating.

Frank glanced at Gerard’s hand on his shoulder from the corner of his eye, contemplated for a moment and finally stepped down the porch almost reluctantly. “Dunno. To impress you, I guess.”

_Impress._ Gerard was not born yesterday. 

“Might as well just grow a pair and admit you want to fuck me,” he muttered in an undertone, keeping up the pace.

Frank snickered and hummed in agreement. “You got it.”

Wasn’t like Gerard minded that at all.

Frank strode confidently through the grove of trees and Gerard, feeling a sudden rush of anxiety being outdoors in the darkness (probably the sedatives again), latched on to his hand to be led. Frank’s skin was warm, his palm soft and his fingertips callused slightly as if he was a guitar player. 

The thought surprised Gerard, but suddenly he decided that Frank wasn’t all that crazy after all. He didn’t mind holding hands, at least.

“Got you a little something,” Frank said as they finally crossed the grove and ended up on a riverbank. The water was dark, calm and quiet, covered by a thick blanket of white fog. This whole time Gerard had no idea there was a river nearby. “Lookie here.”

On Frank’s opened outstretched palm were presented exactly two rumpled cigarettes and a shabby ‘Zippo’ lighter. At that very moment Gerard caught himself thinking he might be falling in love. 

“Is that weed?” he asked suspiciously, but reached for his share (no matter what it was) anyway.

“You’re overestimating me,” Frank chuckled. “That’s Marlboro.”

“Did the nurse like you _that_ much?”

Gerard landed himself on the damp sand, not caring in the slightest about keeping his pants clean and made a long thoughtful drag, enjoying a lungful of smoke. He hasn’t had the pleasure in what seemed like an eternity by now, so the nicotine immediately made him lightheaded.

“Well, it’s not weed after all, so no idea,” Frank sat down alongside Gerard. Somehow the patches of naked skin visible through the knee holes of his ripped jeans ended up being way more captivating than Gerard had anticipated. “But you’re welcome to test me anytime.”

By that point Gerard was tired of getting mad at the flirting, so he just let out a breathy chuckle instead of actually saying anything.

“You’re cute when you’re laughing,” Frank commented with a slight smile that suddenly got chased away by a grim expression. “You remind me of my good friend, actually. We had, um… somewhat of a rock band together, you know.”

Gerard just hummed indefinitely, still enjoying his cigarette. The information was unnecessary, he had already figured out by himself that Frank (tattoos, piercings and all) was not by any chance a white collar. 

“We’ve been getting along pretty well,” Frank continued as Gerard kept making a drag after drag, feeling slightly disappointed by the lack of flirting in their new conversation topic. “Before some rich twat in a fancy-ass car ran him over.”

The thick, bitter cigarette smoke all of a sudden chafed the back of Gerard’s throat. He felt like choking, but held it together. The earth undoubtedly carried way more than just one rich twat in a fancy-ass car, and Gerard just so happened to be among them, it could all still be a coincidence, right? 

Somehow that thought wasn’t as soothing as Gerard had hoped.

“Here, in the area?” having caught his breath, he asked. “When?”

“Yeah, in Newark.” Frank twitched his shoulder as if he was getting annoyed and frowned deeply. “Who the fuck knows, like… a week ago? Me and some other guys, his friends... we didn’t even get to speak to the motherfucker, the cops just brushed us off. Said ‘he’ll get what’s coming’, or some shit. But you know how it is, right?” he turned to look Gerard in the eye and his face, lit up by the soft, milky moonlight, was that of true sorrow. “The dude had a load of money.”

A _fuck_ load, Gerard corrected in his mind. A fuckload of money.

“When we got to the station that night, he had already left.” Frank tossed his stub to the sand. “I railed so many lines that day I blacked out. Don’t remember shit. Then got to a hospital, then ended up here. Decided so myself, cause… I mean, fuck this shit, really. Drugs and all. Kinda like… a fresh start, you know?”

Gerard stared pensively at the cigarette squeezed between his fingers. He analyzed his feelings lazily and came to a conclusion that the only thing he regretted now was the lack of weed. He also sensed the need to scoot closer to Frank for warmth.

“And this guy,” Gerard began quietly and hissed as the stub burned his skin. He threw it into the water. “Who was he, anyway?”

“Told you I’ve no idea,” Frank replied with audible annoyance. “An artist or some shit. I’ve never even seen him.”

“Would you want to?”

Frank scoffed. “Don’t think I’d manage to get away with just rehab after that.”

The silence, filled with just the leaves rustling and soft water splashes almost managed to soothe Gerard’s nerves. Back when he was a kid he’d spend hours trying not to let any thoughts at all pop up in his mind, yet now he was struggling to do the direct opposite. 

Emptiness.

_I’m so sorry, Frank,_ he’d wanted to say. _I’m so sorry it’s me you were talking about. I’m so, so sorry, Frank. You didn’t deserve this._

“I’m cold,” he finally said. “Can we head back?”

To this very day Gerard is afraid of showing Frank his drawings, he even went as far as to ask the head doctor to put him and Frank into separate art-therapy groups. Gerard is so, so scared, nearly terrified that Frank would suspect something. 

Gerard pushes his coal into the canvas and slashes across it. Several ugly crooked lines should do the trick of deliberately messing up his work. He cannot see Frank through the window any longer.

“Something’s wrong, mister Way?” 

The nurse is back behind his shoulder, now trying to peek over it. Her tone contains just the right amount of professional concern.

“Everything was just fine before you started asking stupid questions,” snaps Gerard, eyes still fixed on the drawing. He is not going to turn around, since as of late each time he even glances at all these young pretty nurses the clinic is full of, he cannot stop himself from wondering which one of them slept with Frank.

Somehow he is mad at all of them, by default.

“As you wish,” the nurse says patiently. She is being paid for it, after all. “I won’t disturb you further.”

Amidst the all-consuming waves of anger there is also a thought that whoever this nurse was, in her shoes Gerard would definitely try and get some weed for Frank instead of a lousy Marlboro pack. Because Gerard be damned, Frank is good.

It must be slightly weird, since Gerard has no idea how exactly did they meet, but he remembers in perfect detail how they fucked.

Gerard had forgiven Frank for another intrusion only because Frank brought more cigarettes that day. He still didn’t seem to grasp at how Iero could move soundlessly past the staff (or maybe he slept with someone not to get noticed, too?). 

Gerard patted his hand on the mattress next to his thigh, inviting Frank to sit down.

“Hey,” Frank said.

_I’m so sorry, so fucking sorry, Frank,_ Gerard thought.

“Marlboro again?” he asked aloud, accepting his cigarette nonetheless. “I see you aren’t trying very well.”

Gerard sincerely anticipated something like a careless, casual chuckle as a reply. Nothing more. But Frank’s expression suddenly turned almost predatory as he placed his Zippo on the bedside table with a soft clank (Gerard shuddered slightly at the sound) just to possessively put his hot opened palms on Gerard’s thighs and loom over him in a menacingly slow movement. 

“Weren’t you taught not to judge what you don’t know?” he rasped, his damp breath scolding Gerard’s ear. 

Gerard knew the game, and accepted the rules rather fast. 

“I was taught-” he gasped for air and stared down at Frank’s hands. The press of them seemed scorching even through the fabric of his jeans, and all the heat was going straight to Gerard’s cock, taking away any focus he had left by that point. He and Frank almost brushed their noses. “-was taught to evaluate things myself. Not to be biased and all that, you know…” Frank hummed in agreement, finally catching Gerard’s bottom lip between his own. “I mean… god damn it, Frank, how long do you think I can blabber, would you-”

_… shut me up already._ That was what Gerard was going to say, but Frank chuckled softly and eventually cut him off with a deep kiss.

_Your friend is dead, Frank,_ Gerard thought. _I killed him. I murdered him. I’m so sorry._

Frank turned out to be the gentlest lover Gerard had ever had. And Gerard undoubtedly did not deserve any niceness, so he tried time and time again to provoke Frank into being rough.

It didn’t work.

Frank kissed Gerard everywhere reachable - his face, his chin, his neck - and whispered some soothing, sweet nonsense as he held his legs and moved inside him, torturously slow. Frank’s whole body was hot, so hot that Gerard would gasp helplessly for cool air after every wet, messy kiss, and yet was craving more of them. 

Gerard couldn't hold back his screams anymore when Frank picked up the pace, going deeper. A shiny dog tag on a thick silver chain (wherever did Frank even get it from?) rocked steadily above Gerard’s face. Anytime Gerard wanted attention, he would catch it into his mouth and pull just to make Frank kiss him. 

Frank would laugh huskily and oblige. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Frank whispered breathily, nuzzling his face into Gegard’s hair. “And so tight.”

_I’m so sorry, Frank,_ Gerard thought.

_Deeper, Frank,_ Gerard thought.

Gerard steps away from the canvas, suddenly distracted by someone’s breath right behind his shoulder. He half expects to see the damned annoying nurse again as he rushes to turn around.

But it’s Frank.

“You’re not bad,” he says. Even though he is looking at the drawing, the immediate expression of panic on Gegard’s face does not escape him. He interprets it in his own way, though, as he presses a finger to Gerard’s lips. “Shush. She won’t even know I’m here.”

Gerard feels his whole body freeze completely with a rush of familiar fear. His fingertips go numb and the coal slides out to drop on the floor. All Gerard manages to force out of himself is: “Not bad?”

“Yeah. The drawing is cool.” Frank smiles that open, warm smile of his. “You don’t happen to drive a Pontiac, do you?”

And then he laughs out loud. The sound is so pretty it actually manages to calm Gerard, if only for a moment. The nurse shushes at them, not noticing that Frank does not belong to her group. 

Frank is joking. Just joking, Gerard thinks, and laughs along. 

_I’m so sorry, Frank,_ he wants to say. _So fucking sorry._


End file.
